


Accent

by Madtom_Publius



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF
Genre: Gen, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 10:25:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6280852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madtom_Publius/pseuds/Madtom_Publius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was no coincidence that Alexander lost his West Indian accent upon coming to the American colonies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr by publius-esquire, edited for grammar and tweaked for content

All it had taken was one comment to plant the seed of doubt in his mind. “What is that accent?”

 

Once he had stepped off the boat on American ground, Alexander hadn’t given much thought to how his voice’s harmony sounded to the ear. The Mulligans had never said a word about it - though in hindsight perhaps it was due to their own Irish lilt that stood in such contrast to their English neighbors that made the topic obsolete. 

 

But a chance crossing with a young man outside of Elizabethtown, whom he had thought might give him directions, suddenly made him feel exposed. The look in the gentleman’s black eyes was not one of maliciousness, but nevertheless cast their stare on him as if he were a spectacle, like he did not belong.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” he’d answered brusquely, causing the young man to chafe at his rudeness. He mentally berated himself. _Show some of the damn pedigree your father put into you_ , he thought bitterly. Standing up straight, Alexander said, “My apologies, it’s only that I am in a hurry and the directions I was given have somehow made me lost in this town. Do you know where the Academy is?”

 

The young man - certainly no older than he was - still stared at him, like he was a poodle in a gentleman’s suit, merely performing high society etiquette. “Are you to be a student there?” he asked.

 

Annoyed by all the questions that were decidedly not answers to his own, Alexander gave a curt nod. “And it’s important that I get there before noon, so if you would please direct me, I’d be your most obedient servant.” Those black eyes seemed to be silently mocking his attempts to play the gentleman, though the young man’s face betrayed no discourtesy. 

 

“Turn right at this building at the end of the street, and walk three blocks down, and it will be towards your left,” said the young man. Before Alexander could tip his hat and leave, the youth took hold of his arm. “Tell me, are you a planter’s son?”

 

“No….”

 

“Ah. Forgive me, then,” said the young man with the black eyes. “I am Aaron Burr.”

 

“Alexander Hamilton,” he said, returning the greeting, and he couldn’t contain the surprise on his face as he added, “My patron was ordained by a Reverend Burr.”

 

“That would be my father, no doubt,” Aaron said stoically. “He ordained many capable and respectable men when he was alive.” Alexander was about to apologize for broaching the topic of something no doubt deeply personal, but Aaron segued back with, “But if you’re going to the Academy, then the sooner you work out your accent the better.”

 

Bristling at that, Alexander’s cheeks reddened. “What do you mean?”

 

With a nonchalant air, Aaron explained, “If it’s your wish to be a merchant your whole life, then by all means keep as you are. But people here will take you for a foreigner at an instant. And you are, aren’t you? That may be excused in a planter’s wild son, sent here to the American colonies to be tamed, but not if you have higher ambitions. And you do, do you you not? Just some friendly advice, feel free to take it or leave it.” With a nod, Aaron released his arm and walked calmly down the street.

 

Chewing on his lip, Alexander followed the directions he was given. And as his eyes darted to the people walking around them, he started listening. Listening to how their words differed from his own, desperate to spot what would make him stand out. And mumbling under his breath, he began to practice. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on tumblr by publius-esquire, edited for grammar and tweaked for content

The first time Hamilton slipped in front of his fellow soldiers was when they had passed around a flask of foreign whiskey - passed off as American - that McHenry had procured. It had quickly become apparent that, like the Marquis de Lafayette, Hamilton could not hold his liquor without becoming silly from the spirits. He grew into great entertainment for his friends, who enjoyed seeing how even more inflamed he could become in his causes once hard drink passed his lips. And normally Alexander enjoyed saturating in the attention, since he was certainly a fan of his own nonsense, but the more he drank the more he lost the tightly-held control of his speech.

 

“If I were put in charge of this, or at least in a position above mediocrity - no offense to all of you present - my solution would be - ”

 

He was cut off by a liquor-induced laugh from Monroe at his side. “Say that again.” 

 

“Were you not listening?” asked Hamilton, not without a touch of haughtiness. “I said, if I were put in charge - ”

 

“Not that,” James specified, “say ‘solution.’” Monroe ignored the slight ribbing he got from Laurens’s elbow as a message to stop his prodding. 

 

“Solution?” asked Alexander.

 

Monroe laughed again, and even Tench Tilghman was hiding a broad smile behind the back of his hand. Encouraged by that, James repeated, “Salootion. Saloootion.”

 

Laurens watched as Hamilton’s face began to burn red, traveling up his neck to the tips of his ears in embarrassment. He’d always thought he’d heard a lilt in Alexander’s voice whenever they enjoyed a bottle of wine amongst themselves, but it was hardly the conduct of a gentleman to be making a point of it in good company.

 

But before he could remind Monroe of gentlemanly decorum, Hamilton snapped, “If you would care to get on this box and voice your own opinions - ”

 

“Would I cear to get on that bax?” asked James, looking across at his fellow Southerners with another laugh.

 

“Stop making an ass of yourself,” John said, narrowing his eyes.

 

But not one to stand and let others mock him, Alexander handed McHenry the flask and turned on his heel to leave the group to their merriment.

 

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Taking a drink of whiskey, McHenry looked peevishly over at Monroe, and suddenly felt self-conscious of his own Irish brogue. Not wanting to become the next target of the Virginian’s mockery, he stood up and also left. Any more gaieties would have to be found elsewhere that night. 

 

Later, Laurens was able to catch up to Hamilton, who was walking along the fence of the property, fists shoved into his pockets, no doubt using the cool air to soften his pique. And as John approached him he heard his friend mumbling under his breath, and could make out the repetition of his words. “Salution. Solootion. God damn it to hell….Solution. Solution.” 

 

John thought he ought to have said something encouraging, but every fiber in his being suggested that the last thing Alexander would appreciate at the moment was having attention called to the issue that had him sulking now. He didn’t see the issue in the first place, thinking the lilt that came from Alexander whenever he was spirited rather charming. But he also knew he wouldn’t want to hear that, either. 

 

So instead he said, “Harrison is collecting men for cards tonight, if you’re not so drunk as to lose all of your money.” Catching Hamilton’s guarded expression, he explained, “I don’t want to be responsible for you losing the shirt off your back.”

 

Smirking at that, Alexander stepped to his side and walked with him back to camp. “If memory recalls, it was you who lost all of your money last time on a bluff.” 


End file.
